


Windowpain

by Scribe34



Series: Conquer the Night [1]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions, Pocket Monsters: Ultra Sun & Ultra Moon | Pokemon Ultra Sun & Ultra Moon Versions
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dissociative Thoughts, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Medical Experimentation, Medical Torture, Mostly Canon Compliant, Sad with a Happy Ending, animal experimentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 15:44:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14381811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scribe34/pseuds/Scribe34
Summary: Wicke grew more silent; Faba grew more smug; Lillie grew taller and paler and softer, molded into the perfect, ladylike daughter that their mother wanted.And Gladion— Gladion could not stop thinking about the Type: Null.





	Windowpain

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warning for: descriptions of torture and invasive medical malpractice, disassociative thoughts, and the thought patterns of victims of emotional abuse. I base these things on nothing but my own imagination, but I have taken general inspiration from real-life stories of the adult children of narcissists. Any resemblance to your own personal demons is entirely unintentional.
> 
> The title is a pun, borrowed from "Love the Way You Lie" by Eminem ft. Rihanna. I'm generally not fond of American rap music but it was on the radio all the time when I was in high school.
> 
> Characters belong to Game Freak and Nintendo. I can only wish I were the one making money off this bajillion-dollar franchise; but I am not, because I don't own any of it.

 

At the age of fifteen, Gladion Arthur Mohn had decided on three life rules:

 

  1. Knowledge is power.

  2. Never show people the extent of your intelligence.

  3. You can't trust adults.




 

He knew he was smart. He was fluent in formal Kantonian and Kalosian. He had learned geometry, algebra, trigonometry, and was starting calculus; he had imbibed a great deal of history at the desk of his father (before his father vanished into the void of space); he was quite good at chemistry and physics and human biology, and he was getting into Pokébiology under the direction of Mr. Branch Chief Faba, who was usually his teacher when Mum didn't have time to teach him herself.

He also liked literature and poetry, but Mum had caught him reading a poem called _Howl_ , by somebody named Allan Ginsberg, and had promptly decided that poetry was no longer allowed in the house unless she or Wicke vetted it first. Which made no sense, because Wicke was the one who had recommended the poem. Wicke had told him later, in private, that he could finish the poem; but that next time she recommended a poem, she would tell him if it was safe to read around Mum or not.

Despite the fact that Gladion was an intelligent boy who had achieved notable academic success, he was sick of Mr. Branch Chief Faba's insistence on treating him like a child. He was not a child— he was almost sixteen; and since Dad wasn't around anymore, he was also the man of the house. At least, Mum said he was. Sometimes she also said he was a stupid child, but that was usually when he was bad, and when he was bad he deserved it so he didn't blame her.

He arrived promptly at nine o'clock for his Pokébiology lesson with Mr. Branch Chief Faba. It wasn't in the regular labs, which was unusual; he'd been told to report down to Lab A, in the stark white sub-basements of Aether Paradise. Gladion was precisely on time because if he was either one second early or one second late, Faba would yell at him. It had happened before.

He knocked on the door as his Pokétch beeped politely for nine a.m.

The door made two clicking sounds and slid silently open, which meant there was a remote control somewhere. He saw Faba tucking something into his pocket, and two of the scientists in their white coats and golden helmets, shined to a perfect reflection so he could not make out individual features.

“Ah, Master Gladion,” said Faba, clapping his hands together once. “Good morning. You are, of course, here for your Pokébiology lesson. Did you read the eighth chapter of your textbook yesterday afternoon, as I asked you to do?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And did you complete the review questions listed at the end of the chapter?”

“I did sir. I have them here in my bag. Will you take them now or at the end of today's lesson?”

Faba rolled his eyes. “Now, if you please— with less of the attitude.”

Gladion was confused— he really wasn't trying to be impertinent, but argument got one nowhere with Faba. He opened his bag, pulled out his science folder, and removed the sheet of paper with the review questions written out on them. He handed the paper to Faba, who offered it a cursory inspection before setting it down at a desk on the side of the room.

“This is actually my office,” he explained. “I have taught you in the upstairs labs because of your tender age, but your mother has stated that she believes you are accountable enough to work in the downstairs labs. I trust you will not prove her wrong.”

“No, sir.”

“Very good.” Faba indicated the two scientists, who stood still and watchful. “They are here as security today. They each have a full team of six Pokémon, of varying types and move-sets. They may very well be needed, as today's lesson involves a dangerous specimen from an experiment that has been... shall we say, _discontinued_.”

Gladion frowned. “I've read through many of the experimental archives at your request, sir, and I don't recall reading anything about dangerous specimens that were not immediately disposed of.”

Faba smiled patronizingly. Gladion, as always, resisted the urge to punch the man in the face. “That is because this experiment is not included in the archives. The archives are public. There is a private archive sector here in the downstairs laboratories, to which you will be given access as you prove yourself competent and worthy of trust. Are you ready to begin?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good. We will start with the proper laboratory preparations.”

“Yes, sir.” Gladion went over to the doorway, where several hooks held coats and bags, and hung his bag and jacket on a free hook. The laboratory was set up similarly to the ones upstairs, so he opened the cupboard that he thought would hold lab coats and aprons, and was pleased to find that his hunch had been correct. He put on a lab coat and an apron, then opened another cupboard for goggles. His hair was already tied back, but he picked a hairnet out of a box of disposable nets anyway, because it never hurt to be cautious and he didn't feel like getting a lecture from Faba. Finally, there were disposable shoe covers and not one, but three pairs of disposable gloves. The sleeves of the lab coat tightened with a draw-string, which he tied in place around his wrists; the excess string went inside his sleeve. Gladion looked himself up and down, double-checking for mistakes.

“I'm ready, sir,” he said nervously to Faba.

Faba clicked a stopwatch. “Four minutes and seventeen seconds. Your preparatory time leaves much to be desired.”

“I will try to improve for next time,” murmured Gladion, though he had no such intention. The time fell on the higher range of Faba's “acceptable preparatory times.” Faster than four minutes was too fast, and he was cutting corners; slower than four minutes and twenty seconds, and he was wasting time and being lazy. It left a twenty-second window of “acceptable preparatory time,” and the only really perfect time was four minutes and ten seconds— which incidentally was how long it took Faba to prepare for lab work. Gladion had noticed this in Faba's experimental logbooks.

“Bring out the specimen,” Faba said to the scientists.

They both nodded, and glided over to what looked like a large refrigerator. Gladion recognized it as a specimen case, but the glass was black and he couldn't see anything beyond the indistinct shapes of jars inside of it. One of the scientists put his hand to his pocket, presumably grasping a Pokéball for easy access; the other opened the door, reached in with a pair of tongs, and withdrew—

—another Pokéball. Gladion was slightly disappointed at the anticlimax, until the scientist with the tongs and the mystery Pokéball began to vibrate as they moved back toward Faba and Gladion.

“It seems very violent today,” said Faba, his tone dry. “Bring it here.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled a remote control out, then pressed one of seven buttons on the remote. The buttons were all different colors; the one he pressed was green. A green cylinder of light appeared over the experimental table.

The second scientist placed a small foam pillow with a spherical indent in the center of the green cylinder; the first scientist placed the shaking Pokéball in the indent and quickly backed away. The Pokéball still vibrated, moving the cushion slightly; Faba pressed a gray button and the edges of the table smoothly rose to create a barrier.

“Activate the stasis barrier,” he ordered.

One of the scientists reached under the table and flicked a switch of some kind. The green cylinder buzzed and turned greener.

“This is the procedure for dangerous specimens,” Faba said, turning to Gladion. “Recite the measures I have taken, in order.”

“Firstly, prepare to remove the specimen from the case,” said Gladion dutifully. “In this case, tongs were used, presumably to prevent contact with the containing unit.”

“ _Presumably_?” said Faba sharply. “Science has no place for presumptions, boy.”

“In order to prevent contact with the containing unit, then.” Gladion swallowed. “Secondly, prepare the examination area using remotely-controlled observation and accessibility modules. Thirdly— er, activate the stasis barrier.”

Faba was silent for a moment, regarding him through green lenses with an expression that suggested he found Gladion as intelligent as a clod of dirt on his shoe. Then he said, albeit grudgingly, “Given that I have not explained the identity of the specimen, nor the purpose of today's experiments, I suppose it is a passable guess.”

Gladion let out a silent breath of relief. He had been observant enough, then.

“Now, watch, and I will explain the history of this specimen.” Faba turned back to the table, where the vibrating Pokéball was inching the foam pillow toward the edge of the green light. “Activate restraint devices.”

Four metal cuffs, attached to steel cords, rose from the table and moved to rest in a rectangular pattern.

“Match to projected release area.”

The cuffs moved, so that the rectangular pattern lined up around the Pokéball and the pillow.

“Release specimen.”

The Pokéball opened. There was a brief flash of white light, and then the weirdest-looking thing Gladion had ever seen in his entire life stood on the table, legs in the cuffs.

The reason for the cuffs became immediately apparent; as soon as the specimen— whatever it was— became aware that it was no longer contained in the Pokéball, it began to thrash wildly. The metal table shook.

Faba spoke calmly. “Tighten restraints.”

The cuffs pulled at the specimen's legs, stretching them further and further apart. It scrabbled, claws extending and retracting from both the talon-like forelegs and the paw-like back legs.

“Let's play a little game, Gladion,” said Faba loudly.

The specimen turned to look at them, the eyes zeroing in on Gladion.

 _Pain_.

“Gladion, have the goodness to pay attention when your teacher is speaking..”

“Sorry, sir, I was lost in thought. Will you repeat what you said, please?”

“I _said_ , try to guess the anatomical makeup of this specimen.”

Gladion swallowed. “Of course, sir.”

He tried to study the specimen with as dispassionate a gaze as possible, but his eyes kept returning to its eyes, and the overwhelming thought of _pain pain pain pain pain_ kept ringing in his mind.

“Er— the anterior limbs appear to be avian in nature, but the posterior limbs are mammalian,” he began.

“As any beginning biology student might have noticed, yes.” Faba appeared to be impatient with Gladion's pace, so he tried to speed it up.

“The tail is webbed, suggesting either a piscine or amphibious relation. The structure of the torso and genital area is similar to a quadrupedal mammal, though I cannot readily observe any reproductive organs. The ruff around the neck is composed of squared-off feathers. And the head is, um...”

“Covered,” said Faba, before he could say _biologically unidentifiable_. “The specimen is wearing a helmet, because it is extremely dangerous. Given your observations, into what category of the animal kingdom would you place this specimen?”

 _Pain pain pain pain pain_ —

“None, sir. It appears to be a chimera of some kind, and chimera do not fall into categories of the animal kingdom.”

“Very good,” said Faba, again begrudgingly. It had been a trick question, and he had clearly been hoping that Gladion would fall for the trick— probably seeking the opportunity to condescendingly explain why Gladion was wrong about the answer. “It appears you are not entirely useless as a student of biology. Now, the history of this specimen is quite long, but I expect you to stay on your guard at all times. This specimen in particular has killed several scientists, and may very well be willing to kill again.”

Gladion blinked, surprised; but said nothing. _You can't trust adults_.

And yet he listened, spellbound and increasingly horrified, as Faba told the tale of the three Type: Full units one, two, and three; the RKS system based on Sinnoan legends of Arceus; and the ultimate failure of the chimera Pokémon, which were renamed Type: _Null_ units one, two, and three, outfitted with heavy helmets to suppress their furious power, and placed into cryogenic stasis until such a time as new technology was able to restrain their abilities.

“What do you think of that?” said Faba smugly, turning to look at Gladion.

The scientists, working quietly as Faba spoke, had been adjusting the cuffs that stretched the Type: Null flat against the table, ensuring that it had no ability to move. One of them had placed large magnets on the table near the helmet, making the helmet stick to the table and disallowing for head motion. The only free limb was the webbed tail, which flapped violently from side to side; but it was not long enough and did not have enough freedom of motion to have the ability to harm anyone or anything.

“I think it's in pain,” he said cautiously. Well, he _knew_ it was in pain; but he was not going to say as much to Faba.

Faba burst out laughing. The Type: Null twitched slightly, muscles tensing and moving. “ _Pain_ , Gladion? What an immature observation. It is a specimen. Whether it is in pain or not bears no significance to our studies.”

“Pain has been proven to have significant, negative biological effects in humans. Why should it be any different for Pokémon?”

“Because Pokémon are made to serve humans, boy. If they are in pain, it is generally for the good of humankind; but most of them don't mind what you _perceive_ to be pain.”

“Then why do we even have Pokémon Centers?” asked Gladion, bewildered at the response. “Are they not medical clinics for both humans and Pokémon?”

“That is different. A Trainer and a Pokémon have a unique bond, and both of them willingly go through pain for one another. A Pokémon that is part of a Trainer's team is of no use to its Trainer if it is not in perfect health.” Faba waved his hand at Gladion. “You ask intelligent questions, but you will soon learn that this specimen is not deserving of your pity. It is a savage, feral beast who has savaged and killed in its war on scientific discovery, and therefore is fit for nothing but experimentation.”

“Which Type: Null is this, sir? One, two, or three?”

“It is unit two,” said Faba. “Unit one is... far less stable, and unit three is nearly pristine. If we were to need... er, spare parts, if you will, for the medical bay, we would harvest certain organs of unit one. Unit three will be preserved as it is for the future, when we can hopefully make the advances to revise the RKS system into a feasible technology. Therefore, unit two has been designated an experimental specimen.”

Gladion swallowed back his bile. “I understand, sir. What experiments will be performed today?”

“We will firstly draw several blood samples, in order to test revised iterations of the RKS system with them,” said Faba. “That will be done later; it involves a lot of microscopic work that you would not understand. Today you will observe as I test the reflexes of the specimen against repeated electrical pulses applied to points on the posterior limbs.”

And, as he said, Gladion was forced to watch as the scientists drew nearly three whole pints of blood. Then they stuck electrical tabs to the Type: Null's back knees, and Faba flipped various switches and pressed buttons to shock the Type: Null. It had been making a low, even growling noise throughout the process of being released and chained to the table and having its blood drawn; but with each shock the growl was jarred into a high-pitched yip— a yip that reminded Gladion of his father's old Stoutland, which had died of grief after the disappearance of Arbutus Mohn.

He moved around the table to the front, trying to keep his expression still and calm. Faba, gleefully flipping switches, seemed not to notice; neither did the Type: Null, not with as much pain as it was likely in.

Gladion crouched, trying to see its eyes again. The eyes were unfocused, and some clear, thin liquid had leaked from the face-plate of the helmet. There was no strange smell, so it was, in all probability, tears.

“I'm so sorry,” he whispered. “I wish I could make it stop.”

The head twitched slightly, and the eyes focused on him. Gladion swallowed, suddenly nervous.

“I'm so sorry,” he repeated.

A good person would walk over to Faba, deck him, shove the electrical tabs up the man's prickly backside and tase him until he was a drooling shell with no brain function. A good person would pet the Type: Null, trying to soothe its pain and fear. A good person would take the magnets off the table and release the chains and let the Type: Null go back into its Pokéball.

Gladion was not a good person. He was a stupid, scared boy, and he wanted to do something, but anything he did would get him in trouble.

“And that concludes today's lesson,” said Faba cheerfully.

Gladion quickly straightened up and pasted an innocent expression on his face. Faba studied him for a moment, but seemed to find nothing amiss. The only good thing about Faba's tendency toward being a condescending prick was that the man didn't ever think about other people's emotions, and believed them as unbothered by witnessing and causing torture as he was.

“Thank you for the lesson, sir,” he said politely. “It was most educational.”

“Your homework for the evening is to read chapter nine in your biology textbook and complete the review questions at the end of the chapter,” said Faba, almost lazily. “You are dismissed. Please put your laboratory gear away before you go.”

The scientists detached the electrical tabs from the Type: Null, which would have collapsed into a limp heap if it were capable of moving. As the Pokémon was returned to its ball, and then to the specimen case, Gladion slowly removed his laboratory gear and watched Faba out of the corner of his eye.

Specifically, he watched the remote control. The remote control appeared to be the key to operating the lab equipment. It would be just like Faba to test him on it one day without telling him beforehand; it was just good preparation.

Really.

“Why are you still lingering?” demanded Faba. Gladion jumped. “In an emergency evacuation, you would have to be much faster than this. Hurry up!”

“Of course, sir. My apologies, sir,” murmured Gladion, and he peeled the fabric shoe covers from his feet and put them in the disposal unit with the plastic gloves before leaving the room.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He tried to tell Mum about it, but... well, he really should have expected her reaction to that. He'd tried it over dinner a few nights later, with Lillie and Wicke present to bear the burden of emotional fallout; but his mistake was that Faba had already gone to Lusamine. Evidently the man _had_ picked up on Gladion's emotional distress. He had quickly assured Lusamine that it was a childish, if generous impulse and that the specimen wasn't _really_ suffering; it was just enduring, for the good of Pokémon and the human race.

The shouting match that followed was the single most terrifying thing he had ever experienced in his life. Lillie stayed up washing dishes until four in the morning, as Gladion was locked in his room, fuming; and both of them were still made to be awake by seven the next morning, pale-eyed and withdrawn. Lusamine, of course, was as cheerful and chipper as usual, and were they still upset about yesterday? Oh, how _silly_! Mum's already forgotten about it, you should, too. You'll be much happier _if you just behave and don't think about it_!

Another shouting match. Lillie did dishes until four again, falling asleep while standing up and coming to breakfast the next morning with a lump on the back of her head where she'd fallen over.

At least Faba was no longer his science teacher; that duty was reassigned to one of the scientists in the upper laboratories. Gladion, thinking of Type: Null unit two, was unsure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Wicke grew more silent; Faba grew more smug; Lillie grew taller and paler and softer, molded into the perfect, ladylike daughter that their mother wanted.

And Gladion— Gladion could not stop thinking about the Type: Null.

It might have been that he was unusually sensitive and it was an extreme and natural emotional reaction to watching the torture of a helpless animal. It might have been the callous divide between his mother's reverence for endangered Pokémon and her insistence that Faba knew best about Type: Null and that yes, it really was a deranged monster.

Huh. _Endangered_ wasn't all that far off from _deranged_.

But it was mostly the fact that he got up every morning, combing his hair and tying it back, putting on clean black button-down collared shirts and dark-gray chinos, washing his face, brushing his teeth, looking in the mirror—

—it was said that the eyes were the windows of the soul—

— he got up every morning, looked at his own bright-green eyes, reminders of his parentage starkly written in his face, and saw _pain pain pain pain pain,_ just like the Type: Null.

It was stupid, really. Because Gladion was broken; his mother said so. He'd been broken for a long time and he knew he was a soulless, monstrous puppet who was incapable of love and every time he so much as breathed he was reminded of how worthless and stupid and insignificant and ugly he was.

Yet he could not bear to think of the pain of the Type: Null. It wouldn't go away. It was in his eyes and his skull and his heartbeat, tattooed into his pulse, a rapid beat of _pain pain pain pain pain_ that never stopped, not even when he slept.

It didn't make sense. Gladion wasn't in pain. At least, he didn't think he was in pain. Things that didn't have feelings couldn't feel pain. Could they?

It occurred to him one day, quite logically, that Faba had claimed that the Type: Null could not feel pain. But Gladion had _seen_ it in pain. He'd seen it crying. He knew what it was going through— he was perhaps the only person with the capability of understanding.

Did that, perhaps, mean that despite the fact that Gladion was a broken monster with no feelings— did that mean that he could feel pain, too?

And if he _did_ feel pain, was it anything like the great ache of grief and fear and anger that he was forced to hide behind a mask of non-emotion in order to appease Lusamine?

 _You can't trust adults_. Gladion wasn't sure who to ask for help. He certainly wasn't going to talk to Lillie; she didn't need to deal with his problems on top of her own. Lusamine and Faba were the _reason_ for rule number three to begin with. He was uncertain about whether he could trust Wicke, but as time went on and the shadows under his eyes grew darker and deeper, he became quite sure that he had to do something.

So he went to Wicke.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wicke looked at him levelly for a few moments, after he had finished talking. For a moment, Gladion was deeply, horribly afraid that he'd misjudged, and that she'd always liked Lillie better anyway and she was going to drag him straight to Lusamine by his ear and insist that he needed therapy from some Aether shill who would just spout more of his birthgiver's lies into his ears.

Her face wrinkled in confusion and horror. “What?” she said, staring at him. “No, Gladion, I'm not going to tell the president.”

Oh, he'd said that out loud. Talking, it did things to you.

“And I like you and Lillie equally,” she added, her tone much firmer. “Though I do agree with you about therapy from an Aether medic; Madam President would likely insist on seeing your case files and that would be a breach of the Blissecratic Oath, not to mention the Healthcare Information Protection Act of Alola. So we will not be pursuing therapy at this time.”

Gladion let out a sigh of relief. He realized he was sweating; he hadn't thought that just talking about something could make him sweat.

“I have to do something,” he said, looking down at Wicke's desk. “I— I have to. I can't just let it happen anymore. I'm going to go crazy. I— I think I might already be going crazy. I keep thinking that if I can't stop it from getting hurt I should just volunteer _myself_ as a lab specimen, and let people shock me and cut me open because then I wouldn't have to _think_ about it—”

“I'm going to stop you right there,” said Wicke gently. “Gladion, I have not said that we will not be doing something. We _will_ be doing something.”

He looked up at her, at her round, gentle face and curly hair. “We will?”

She smiled, but there was steel in her smile. “We will. There are several simple facts: You and Lillie are as dear to me as my own children would be, if I had any. You are also suffering. I will not allow that to happen— so, we will stop it from happening.”

It sounded so _simple_ when she put it like that. Gladion groped for the tissues— blew his nose, wiped his eyes. The ache in his chest lessened, ever so slightly.

“You have not owned a Pokémon, correct?” she asked him, folding her hands on her desk.

“No, ma'am.”

“Just Wicke, Gladion,” she said gently. “I'm not going to throw a hissy fit if you call me by my name. You can even call me Amelia, if you want.”

“Right, of course. Wicke.” He swallowed. “I have not owned a Pokémon.”

“That makes this more difficult, but the paperwork for Trainer registry is relatively simple, as is funding.” Wicke smiled mischievously. “I _would_  fund this by cutting the budget for Faba's work with the Type: Null project, but he would be suspicious immediately. I'll probably take it from conservation, which has more than enough to spare. Anyway, I'll prepare the paperwork for you, and I'll also look into ways to sneak you into maintenance so you can obtain keys and another remote control for Lab A.”

Gladion stared at her.

“I'm sorry,” he said carefully. “I don't think I quite understand what the plan is.”

“But you said it yourself, Gladion. _I wish I could just take Type: Null and leave here, so I can figure out how to help it._ So that's what we're doing.”

Gladion blinked, several times. He had to mentally rewind the conversation several minutes into his babbling verbal breakdown, but Wicke was correct: he had expressed the wish to take Type: Null and leave.

“But— how do we register Type: Null as an official Pokémon?” he asked, worried.

“It's in the National Pokédex already,” explained Wicke. “The comprehensive list is kept secret— most people don't know that legendaries are registered in the Pokédex to begin with. Imagine if every Trainer tried to catch Lunala, the moon incarnate! Or if a Trainer caught the island Tapus and put them in a PC box, never to be seen again— that would be silly, wouldn't it? Everyone knows that legendaries _are_ Pokémon, but not everyone knows that they are part of the Pokédex. The Pokédex _inserts_ entries when you discover a new type that is already on the comprehensive list, as though they had always been there.”

Gladion frowned. “So, if I thought that the Pokédex skipped from Pikipek to Toucannon and had no idea that Trumbeak existed, then Pikipek would be number ten and Toucannon would be number eleven, and then when I discovered Trumbeak it would be number eleven and Toucannon would be number twelve and the whole list would shift back a step?”

“That is essentially correct,” said Wicke, nodding, “although your example would be more apt with Aerodactyl, listed as number two hundred and eighty-four in the Alolan national Pokédex.”

Gladion frowned. “But Aerodactyl is the last Pokémon in the Alolan dex.”

Wicke raised one eyebrow. “Is it?”

He considered what she had said about the island Tapus and Lunala, the moon incarnate. “ _Arceus_.”

“Actually, I'm told that Arceus is part of the Sinnoan dex.”

Gladion leaned forward and gently smacked his head against Wicke's desk. Several times.

“I'm glad to see you have been able to maintain a sense of humor,” said Wicke. Her tone was brisk, but Gladion knew she meant it quite sincerely. “At any rate, Type: Null is in the comprehensive International Pokédex, as well as the Alolan National Pokédex. There are very few people who know about this— and you will understandably want to avoid those sorts of people after you leave. You don't need people asking questions.”

“Which people?”

“To begin with, Professor Maleko Kukui, and his fiancée, Professor Elikapeka Burnet. They are the Alola region's Pokémon Professors, and they would quite likely recognize a Type: Null immediately; but if they didn't recognize it, they _would_ ask questions.”

“So... I shouldn't do an island challenge?” joked Gladion.

Wicke's expression was not very joking. “I'm not saying you shouldn't, but if you do, you should use Pokémon other than Type: Null.”

His heart sank a little bit; he had been thinking about an island challenge with Type: Null, which from his rudimentary research would be quite powerful if correctly used. If the RKS system were not a failure, he would have a team member far more powerful than the majority of existing Pokémon. It had been a nice fantasy while it had lasted, anyway. “Oh. I see.”

“Other people to avoid would be the island kahunas— with the possible exception of Officer Nanu, of Ula'ula Island. While he would likely recognize a Type: Null faster than any of the other Kahunas, due to his prior service as a member of the International Police— he also bears a good deal of resentment toward the Aether Foundation, and scientists in general. If you can manage to explain yourself, you might find an ally, at the very least. At any rate, regardless of whether he does recognize Type: Null, he is also the Kahuna who is least likely to— as the youth of Alola say these days— give a shit.”

Gladion blinked. He had never heard Wicke swear before, and the profanity sounded foreign coming from her pleasant, polite voice.

“Just making sure you were awake,” she said, offering a smile. “Of course, you would also need to avoid all of the Aether outposts on Alola. There is one on Akala Island and two on Ula'ula Island. But statistically speaking, the Akala and Ula'ula Islands are the best places for you to hide; the population density is higher and you are more likely to go unnoticed."

"Right."

She studied him. "If you decide to go through with this— and I wouldn't blame you if you think it's too much— can you handle it? Or should I withdraw a greater sum of money, create a great deal of fraudulent paperwork, tender my resignation, kidnap Lillie, and take you both to start a new life in Kanto?”

Gladion's jaw dropped. “You would _do_ that?”

“In a heartbeat.” Her answer was immediate, absolute. “I am fond of your mother. I admire what she is doing with the conservation efforts, and I feel great pity for her loss. But I cannot condone the way she treats you— either of you. You and Lillie will always come first.”

Something he couldn't describe filled his throat, stretched his lungs and heart, made his ribs ache. It was warm and brittle and he did not know its name, but he knew it by the look in Wicke's soft green eyes.

“If I get into any trouble,” he said— carefully, making sure that his voice did not tremble with the tears he wanted to shed— “if I get into something I'm not sure if I can get out of, will I have a way to get in touch with you?”

“I will purchase a cheap Pokétch, which I will keep at my apartment in Konikoni City. I will only have the opportunity to get to it once or twice a week; but if you need me, I will be available within a few days of any sent message. You will also have access to my postal office box on Akala Island."

“Then—” Gladion took a deep, shaky breath. “—then I think I can do it. I think I can hide out in Alola.”

“I will write out a list of instructions for you to follow, when you get to land. I will also take care of your financial needs,” said Wicke.

She stood up, walked around the desk, and bent down, looking directly at him.

“You are very brave, you know,” she said softly.

Gladion thought of all the dishes that Lillie would have to wash and nearly changed his mind, but... “Will you make sure that— that Lillie knows it's, um. It's nothing to do with her? Even if Mu— even if Lusamine makes her wash dishes, or iron handkerchiefs, or clean the same three bathroom tiles for three days straight?”

“I will make sure she knows,” promised Wicke.

 _You can't trust adults_ , said the frantic, panicking voice in his head.

 _Wicke isn't an adult_ , Gladion told the voice in his head. _She's a parent_.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In the end, it was surprisingly simple. Wicke gave Faba a bottle of Rawst berry wine for his birthday, and on the same evening she went into his quarters with his own key card— as chief of staff she had duplicates of all employee key cards— and quietly borrowed the remote for twenty minutes while he was drinking himself into a stupor.

Gladion, in the attire of one of the lab scientists from the downstairs laboratories, followed Wicke as she stepped out of Faba's room. They both wore two pairs of gloves, as well as lab coats and hairnets. Wicke had protested, but Gladion insisted that there be nothing tracing Wicke's presence in Faba's apartment, in case they were found out.

She went with him, putting her regular white gloves on over the rubber ones; this was part of her regular appearance. She'd also gotten one of the gold-plated scientist helmets from the laboratory supply depot, and they had outfitted themselves in Wicke's office— one of the few places in Aether Paradise that was completely camera free. Gladion, sweating under the helmet, was so nervous that he nearly missed the turn from the in-house staffing area to the elevator room.

It was quite possible that Giratina of the Void had decided that Gladion's mission was to be fraught with difficulty and stress, because as they approached the elevator, it whooshed down from the conservation levels, revealing Lusamine.

“Ah, Wicke. Good evening. Shouldn't you be putting the children to bed?”

“Miss Lillie and Master Gladion are both in bed, madam,” said Wicke demurely. Gladion marveled at her ability to lie with a completely straight face— and at the same time, wondered how long she'd been doing it, how many times she'd done it to _him_. “Master Gladion went with some difficulty, but I managed to make him see reason. Which is very fortunate, as I have a good deal of paperwork to do.”

Lusamine laughed— charmingly, because Lusamine always laughed charmingly. “Ah, Wicke, without your skills in paperwork, I just know we would be run to the ground. Do you know where Faba is?”

“Since today is his birthday, he requested the evening off. I believe he is in his quarters, if you wish to speak to him.”

“Oh, no, I won't bother him today.”

As they spoke, they had switched places— Lusamine was walking off the elevator, and Wicke and Gladion were walking onto it. Lusamine smiled and waved, then turned in the direction of the house.

Wicke smiled until Lusamine's back was turned, but then she went to the elevator and began typing rapidly into the keypad. “Oh, shit,” she murmured.

“What's wrong?”

“I don't think she believed me about you going to bed.” Wicke frowned. “I'm probably going to have to implement the false key-card logs.”

“The what?”

The elevator rushed them down, toward the basement. “Do you know exactly how many times I covered for you when you snuck out of bed and went to the Aether library, Gladion? Or Lillie, when she decided to go stargazing out on the decks or in the conservation habitat? Key card logs are required for every door and elevator interaction in the building. This place is a fortress. I have erased traces for your card and Lillie's card more times than I have kept track of any particular employee's comings and goings.”

Gladion gaped at her.

“Fortunately, I have prepared for this exact scenario. I have prepared a false log that shows you leaving your room and the house, going to the library, up to the conservation area, and back to your room. I can convince her to put your room on lockdown without checking after she sees you're apparently back in bed, so you should have the night. But if we don't get you out as fast as possible, she may decide to go check the logs herself.”

“I'm pretty sure,” said Gladion, after a few moments, “that you have superhuman abilities.”

“I do not,” said Wicke, smiling. “Though I am flattered that you think so highly of me.”

The elevator came to a halt, and they hurried through the maze of pristine corridors. The smell of chemical cleanser was even stronger under the helmet than it was without it; Gladion nearly gagged.

They arrived at Lab A, and Wicke pulled off her own gloves and swiped Faba's key card with the latex ones before pressing the blue button on the remote. The door slid silently open.

“Do you know what you have to do?” said Wicke softly, offering him the remote.

Gladion nodded.

“Then I must leave you. I have left other instructions for you on Faba's boat.” It was a touch of revenge— leaving on Faba's birthday and using his key card, remote, and boat to get away. Gladion had wondered at the depths of Wicke's dislike for Faba, wondering if it came anywhere close to his own. “Be sure to shower or bathe as soon as possible; knowing Lusamine, she will have the scent-chasing Stoutlands with a lock of your hair.”

“How would she have gotten a lock of my hair?”

Wicke offered a look that was nearly as condescending as Faba, if Faba were very nice and liked pink sweaters. “She probably went into your room and cut a lock off while you slept. I imagine it's some sort of birthday tradition. Make a cake, open gifts, blow out the candles, and as soon as your child is asleep, update all of the medical files and replace the outdated lock of hair with a new one.”

“You have a sick imagination.”

“No, Gladion; I am a realist. But I have to go now— I have false trails to lay and, as always, endless piles of paperwork.”

The sad thing is that she _was_ a realist, and that Lusamine was likely to do exactly that sort of thing. Wicke clasped his hand for a moment, four layers of latex between them; then she turned and walked away. Gladion wanted to hug her, but that would be film footage they would have to hide. Wicke was popular enough with the entire staff that a hand-clasp would not be uncommon.

He went into the lab. There were cameras here, of course; but the room could be air-tight and sound-proof if it needed to be.

The first thing he did was walk over to the specimen case. Faba was paranoid, but fortunately not paranoid enough to put a camera inside the specimen case. Gladion would have done it, but Gladion was also not entirely sure that he was, at this point, categorically sane.

He reached up and pressed the button on the helmet that would show his face. Pokémon could see through their balls somewhat and he wanted the Type: Null Unit Two to see that it was him, and not one of the gold-helmeted scientists. It still smelled like chemical cleanser, but there was a slightly fresher scent to the air than what got filtered through the helmet's oxygen system.

He pressed the orange button, which unlocked the specimen case. He didn't bother with the tongs, instead finding the refrigerated cubby labeled _Type: Null Unit Two_ and picking up the Pokéball that sat inside, still and silent.

He saw _Type: Null Unit One_ and _Unit Three_ as well, which he had not expected— Faba made it sound like those Pokémon were in the deep freezers, which required special clearance and written approval from Lusamine to access.

“I'm sorry I can't take all of you,” he whispered. “Just Unit Two. Sorry.”

He didn't know if Pokémon could hear much through their balls, but _Unit One_ and _Unit Three_ each gave a slight wobble. Gladion interpreted this as a sign: _it's okay, she needs you more than we do_.

Unit Two began trembling the moment he touched it, but Gladion simply put the Pokéball in his pocket, closed the specimen case, and re-locked it with the orange button.

He made it out to the hallway and locked the door with the blue button, then turned and hurried away from Lab A before making his way to the elevator. Faba's key card gained him access to the docks. Gladion hoped that Lusamine saw Faba's key card, going all the places she would expect Gladion to go in the event of his escape and corresponding theft of _Type: Null Unit Two_ , and he hoped that Faba got in big trouble. It would serve him right.

Faba's private boat was waiting for him. Gladion signed on with the key card and hurried into the cabin, stripping off the helmet and lab coat as he went. The Pokéball, still shivering, went into the pocket of his nice black jeans.

There was a box and a letter waiting for him on the passenger seat; for now he needed to _get the hell out_ so he ignored both the box and the letter, swiped Faba's key card to both start the engine and de-power the large magnets that kept the boat attached to the docks , and carefully reversed the boat out of the docking area, not turning on the engine.

He kept the lights off and the boat extremely quiet for a good mile, according to the navigation device; then he sat down at the pilot's seat and put his foot on the gas. Wicke had told him it was a lot like driving a car. They didn't have cars on Aether Paradise, but he had played quite a few VR driving games so he had some idea of what he was doing.

The boat roared to life and shot forward. He could still see Aether in the distance, and at the noise a pair of spotlights began spinning around, looking for him; but Faba's private boat was black and would be invisible against the ocean at night. He'd made it out. Gladion, for what felt like the first time in years, began laughing.

Then he began crying, because it wasn't really even that funny, and what the hell was _wrong_ with him.

His pocket vibrated— the Type: Null. It was one hundred percent not advised by Wicke, but Gladion had one last plan for Faba's boat.

He spotted the lighthouse on Akala Island, his primary destination, and cut the engine about a mile from shore. Then he pulled the Pokéball out of his pocket, sent a prayer up to Arceus, and pressed the button that would release the Type: Null.

He half-expected her to come out roaring, but she was silent, turning around at once and leaping, knocking him back onto the dashboard of the boat and pinning him in place with her sharp talons. She was also extremely heavy. Gladion gasped for air.

“Wait, don't kill me,” he wheezed. “Do you remember me? I'm the one who said I was sorry. I am sorry. I'm still sorry. I wish I could have done something sooner, but I got you out, I got you away. Please let me help you.”

There was a long silence. Gladion sucked air in like it was his job, taking deep and greedy breaths.

The Type: Null released him. He coughed for breath, slumping to the floor.

“Let me explain,” he offered, panting.

She was silent, so he took it as encouragement to continue.

“So, I was just as stuck there as you, though not physically tortured in the same way. Possibly maybe emotionally tortured, but I'm not even going to pretend that what I went through is anything close to the hell you endured. I am very, very respectful of your suffering and how much pain it has caused you, and I admire your strength in being able to endure and keep fighting.”

The Type: Null let out a snort that sounded like disbelief.

“No, really. I don't think I could have done it. They wouldn't let me see you anymore after that first time, because I was so worried about you and that asshole who was in charge of the experiments was probably afraid I would try to stop him. So they didn't let me do anything, and I'm just a stupid kid so I _couldn't_ do anything whether they let me or not. But I was really worried and I was also kind of suffering, again not on the same scale as you, and so I had to go to the one person, well, one of two people I really trust on that hunk of floating scrap and ask for help. And she helped me, so you and I are free and we are never going back unless we absolutely, positively have to, and the only scenario where I can see that happening is if we have to kill Lusamine or Faba, and I think you would be only too happy to help me if that were the case.”

The Type: Null remained silent this time. Gladion decided that his babbling was having a positive effect.

“So, yeah. We're out. Now, you and I are going to have to go into hiding— and I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, but that means you have to go into the Pokéball—”

 _Wham_. The breath vanished from his lungs as the Type: Null pounced, snarling, and pressed her claws into his chest. One of them broke the skin; he could tell by the sharp, prickling feeling and the odd moisture on his shirt.

“I'm not going to freeze you or stick needles in you or shock you or anything like that! I swear to Arceus—” The Type: Null hissed, like a cat. “—oo-okay, I guess you don't like hearing about him, makes sense, Frankenstein's monster probably didn't like hearing about Victor very much either. I mean, wrong metaphor, but it was what I thought of when Faba told me your story. I swear on— uh, not the one you don't like. I dunno— Lunala the moon incarnate. Or Tapu Lele, the guardian deity of Akala Island, where we just about are. Or Kyogre as we're on the ocean. But if I let you go walking around out of your ball, we will be caught and captured and returned to hell faster than I can say, 'Null, use Tackle.' So for the sake of safety and security and never, ever going back, please let me put you in your ball, and I'll try to let you out as often as I can.”

The Type: Null growled, and Gladion felt sharp claws rake down his arm. He hissed in pain.

“It would also be really nice if you would not do that,” he added, squeezing his eyes shut. “At least not here. If I bleed on Faba's boat, they will definitely find us. Stoutland sniffers will track us down real quick.”

The breath from the helmet landed on his face. Gladion turned his head to the side, praying that Lillie would never, ever see pictures of his dismembered body lying in pieces on Faba's abandoned boat; she had enough to worry about without a trauma like that.

The helmet pressed against Gladion's cheek, at first gently and then firmly; and then the Type: Null moved off him.

Gladion got to his feet, examining his wounds. He glanced at the Type: Null, who was watching him with a wary expression.

“I have an idea,” he said. “You know the asshole in charge of all the shocks and needles and pain? Faba? Well, this is his boat. I need it to function for a little bit so please ignore the dashboard, but feel free to trash all the seats and the floor. Scratch them up good, chew things, break them, bite them— hell, _eat_ them for all I care.”

The Type: Null let out a short, sharp growl, and turned to slash at a stuffed leather chair. Gladion carefully went over to get the letter and the box, which had fallen on the floor but were thankfully untouched.

 

_Gladion: here are your instructions._

_Drive the boat to Akala Island. Leave it at or drifting near the harbor in Konikoni City._

_This envelope contains your identifying documents and a debit card. The pin number is Lillie's birthday. Find the closest ATM and withdraw half of the contents. This should be enough to last you for several months._

_The box contains three changes of clothes, a backpack, and a supply of Pokéballs, Super Potions, Full Heals, and Revives. It should be enough to keep you afloat in terms of caring for TN and other members of your team, if you should choose to attain them._

_I have also enclosed the RKS Type Memories. Faba probably did not explain much about the Memories, but they function similarly to Arceus's legendary plates: if Type: Null holds one, it will become the type of the corresponding Memory. For instance, a Grass Memory will turn Type: Null into a Grass-type, instead of a Normal-Type. Unfortunately, Type: Null will not learn the eighteen-type move that Arceus knows. The RKS System can only imitate the legendary ability of Arceus, not duplicate it._

_The address you may use to contact my private Pokétch is incrediblyamelia@poké.alo. Purchase your own Pokétch and send a message within three days to let me know that you have been able to follow these instructions._

_For everything else, you're on your own. I wish you luck, and I will send you anything you need. Stay safe, and wear cool clothes during the day— black is a bad idea. You will die of heat stroke if you wear black._

_All my love,_

_Amelia Wicke_

 

Something heavy and metallic brushed his face. Gladion wiped his face with one hand and saw that Type: Null had walked up to him, head tilted curiously, flat black eyes inches away; her helmet had brushed against his cheek.

“I'm crying,” explained Gladion, a bit roughly. He felt oddly embarrassed, that Type: Null had caught him out. “Wicke left me a nice letter, that's all.”

He opened the box and stuffed all of the contents into the backpack, then folded the letter up and tucked it in his pocket along with the thin, shiny debit card and the Trainer ID that falsely proclaimed him to be Arthur Jones— very illegal, but also very well done. He owed Wicke big time for that. He owed her big time anyway, of course.

“If I hypothetically told you that now would be a good time to get in the Pokéball,” he said carefully, “would I get tackled ag—”

He didn't get to finish the sentence, with the wind knocked out again as he landed flat on his back with the Type: Null on his chest.

“Okay, okay,” wheezed Gladion. “I give up. Stay out of the fucking ball, for all I care.”

He cared a lot, actually; but the Type: Null promptly let him up— which was surprising. Gladion, because he was a mean, paranoid bastard, promptly threw the Pokéball and recaptured Type: Null. The Pokéball shook furiously, but it was a valid capture—she had evidently accepted him as a Trainer. No matter how loosely he held it, the ball would only shake, with no tell-tale glow to suggest that the Pokémon within was trying to escape.

“I'm so sorry,” whispered Gladion, cradling the ball. It went still, at that. “I know that's what I said before. And I _would_ let you out of the ball if I could. But you've been kind of violent, and I don't want anyone to get hurt. If you just wait until we get somewhere where we're alone and safe, then I will let you out again. I'll even let you scratch me, because I'm a jerk for tricking you and I deserve it, I really do. But for now— please, please just understand. We have to get to safety, and we have to do it without being noticed or there will never _be_ any safety. I am keeping you safe. I swear on my life that you will never go back to Faba.”

The ball had been hot, in his hands; now it suddenly cooled, the sign of a calm or even sleeping Pokémon. Gladion let out a brief sigh of relief, tucked the ball in his pocket, and went out onto the deck of the boat.

“Hope you don't mind getting a bit wet,” he said out loud to Type: Null, before jumping over the boat rails into the cold, dark ocean. The night swallowed them both, and the salty freshness of the air and the water followed them to Alola— leaving the sterility of the artificial island behind.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Faba is the Pokémon equivalent of Dolores Umbridge and you can't convince me otherwise.
> 
> Wicke explaining why Type: Null is in the Pokédex is pretty much just me making fun of the fact that the Pokémon universe, like most video game universes, is very subject to Main Character Privileges.
> 
> Type: Null and Silvally are genderless, but here Gladion occasionally uses female pronouns for his Null— which will become more constant as he spends more time with her. I mean, it is a well-documented phenomenon that people arbitrarily apply gender to non-gendered things such as vehicles and iPhone robot operating systems; but honestly the reason that Gladion's Null is a girl is because I wanted to write her that way. If you don't like it, oh well I don't care, sue me.
> 
> I'm of the opinion that the whole thing where Game Freak changed Sun/Moon's "giant Nihilego fusion NPD abusive" Lusamine to US/UM's "neglectful parent obsessed with getting her husband back" Lusamine was very, very stupid. I saw narcissism and abusive parenting so clearly in Sun/Moon Lusamine; it gave the story more impact, more meaning. It made Lillie's personal declaration of independence all the sweeter to read. The bit in Ultra Space where she tells Lusamine that people and Pokémon are not playthings is my favorite line of dialogue in the entire Pokémon universe. Reducing Lusamine to a trope of "my husband's gone so let me ignore my children" does her, and the other characters, a disservice.
> 
> So... in this fic (and the extended universe that I eventually plan on publishing here), she's Evil Squid Mom and she definitely has NPD. Everything else is based on US/UM.
> 
> Comments and constructive criticism are welcome. It's called feedback, because good writers eat it up and die without it.


End file.
